


the weight of beginning again

by asexuelf



Series: Disciples of Atlas [2]
Category: Sally Face (Video Games)
Genre: Angst, Blood, Child Abuse, Cults, Demons, Double Agents, Established Relationship, Established Sal Fisher/Travis Phelps, Gore, Hurt No Comfort, Larry Johnson Is a Good Bro, M/M, Magic, Memory Loss, Plot, Stealing From Your Local Bookstore Is Rude, Suggestive Themes, The Devourers of God (Sally Face) - Freeform, Torture, Trauma, Travis Joins The Sally Face Gang, Trichotillomania, Witch Travis (Sally Face), Witches, well in like... one scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-13
Updated: 2020-09-13
Packaged: 2021-03-06 17:27:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,162
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26292613
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asexuelf/pseuds/asexuelf
Summary: Long months after learning the truth about Mrs. Packerton and Phelps Ministry, Travis hides in plain sight among his father's cult, expertly gaining and passing information to Sally Face and the gang.Despite the hard work of Travis and his friends, however, The Devourers of God grow stronger by the day. For the sake of his friends, for the world, Travis has to keep up - and he knows how to do it.He just has to meet the cost.
Relationships: Sal Fisher/Travis Phelps
Series: Disciples of Atlas [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1902238
Comments: 4
Kudos: 20





	the weight of beginning again

**Author's Note:**

> WOOF. a bit darker than the last for sure... there's a sequel to this one as well that i'm putting together that, while keeping the theme of Fucked Up, will be a little more light-hearted and hopeful xD still, i'm pretty proud of this fic, and i think it's a fun read 💖 i hope you do too!
> 
> warnings for hand injury, amputation, discussion of possession, amnesia/memory loss, child abuse, religious cults, demons, human experimentation, aaaand... petty theft? i think that's the whole of it, but tread carefully anyhow! oh, and weird formatting xD apologies for that. hopefully it's readable!
> 
> enjoy 💖

Inky black fingers dance across the floor. They prance behind him playfully like fire willowing in a window's breeze. They chase him like a hungry dog.

A nightmare. It has to be.

He's always been a lucid dreamer. He knows when he's dreaming, every single time. He can control what he says in those dreams, and how he moves, and he can control what happens and when he wakes.

He can't control the monster chasing him.

He doesn't remember falling asleep.

-

Violet wisps of not-quite smoke drift around his fingers, held between this world and the next by whim and work, so bright against the bland backdrop of Todd's room that they look almost neon. The power is intoxicating, as brilliant against his skin as a kiss or caress. Like fireworks, but so much easier to handle.

And the cost to cast is just a few facts, a few feelings… A brief moment of forgotten history - hours and hours of experiences he never wanted and never will - in exchange for  _ this?  _ This incredible power?

Travis almost wants to laugh. It's so much more than worth it. It's like being paid to eat.

The amusement on his face must take a shape like mania, because Todd clears his throat and adjusts his glasses with a stiff hand. "Alright, Travis," he says meaningfully. "That should be sufficient, thank you. My readings look clear, if confusing."

The energy sticking to his bones dissipates and he sighs at the loss. His hand feels strange and cold, touched only by air where only moments ago he'd felt an otherworldly tether pulling, pulling, pulling…

He wants more. He wants  _ bigger. _

Todd gives him an uncertain glare. "Travis?"

"Yeah, yeah." The guy's always so damn serious. Travis drops his hand to his side, away from Todd's green-blinking machine, and throws himself backwards onto Todd's bed. He looks at the glowing UFO stickers on the ceiling like they can give him answers. "Why do we keep taking readings of my magic?"

"Because," Todd says. "You said it yourself, didn't you? We need every weapon we can hold in the fight against your father."

The UFO stickers glow a faint, sickly green, even with the lights on. "Yeah… Yeah, I guess I did."

It's a lot to think about. Travis is far from Kenneth Phelps' favorite person, but he's starting to gain a little trust in the cult. 

_ Enough for this, anyways _ , he thinks. He holds his first two fingers over his eyepatch and does not press down.

He's the son of the leader, of the Devourer's master and prophet, but he's still just a child - and a child who, even if to gain knowledge for his father, is consorting with their enemy: the Child of the Abomination.

He still isn't sure who among their friends the Child is. Just thinking of all this shit makes his head spin, his eye throbbing beneath his hand, but it's worse when his father is vague. Nothing feels real anymore, not the ministry, not the temple beneath the city, and definitely not fucking highschool. The closest thing Travis has found that doesn't feel like a dream is, ironically, magic.

Electric in his veins, in his flesh, like adrenaline and so much more… And the little void it leaves behind as it takes and gives in equal measure. Travis gives memories, is given visions in return, but his memories aren't worth an awful lot, seeing as he's been given an awful lot in life and all, so the visions are worth about as much.

Answers on a math test. A trailer for a movie coming out next year. The new haircut Ash is apparently getting.

It isn't enough. He sacrifices pieces of his past, but they aren't worth much future. At least he doesn't remember the taste of bologna anymore.

All the sound in the room is the click-clacking of Todd typing notes into his computer. Occasionally, the low hum of Bob's aquarium will be joined by the bubbling of its water. Travis sees no reason to break the silence.

He could talk to Todd about magic, if he wanted, but that would be like talking about poetry to a robot. All Todd would offer to the conversation would be readings, studies, science,  _ blargh!  _ It's something that Todd can only break into 1's and 0's, but Travis knows better. Magic is so much more than that.

"Oh!" Travis sits up quickly, as if his sudden realization has pulled him up by his hair. "Hey, they did some more shit to my eye. Did I tell you?"

Apparently not. Todd's keys go totally silent. His eyes are wide behind his glasses in something between shock and horror. "Again?" he chokes out. "So quickly?"

"Again." Travis' eye throbs, convulsing like a squeezed mouse as if it can hear them. Maybe it can.

The lines of Todd's throat shake as he gulps. "Okay." He takes a shivering breath. "We'll take some readings of your eye too and see what has changed since the last- change."

Travis pulls himself off the side of the bed and ignores the dull ache magic left in the joints of his fingers. "Back to the unholy grind, eh, Todd?"

The laugh he's hoping for doesn't come. The afternoon stretches too wide that day.

-

Needle-point teeth dig into his flesh, pulling hot blood to the surface. It pools at his ankles, slicking the floor beneath him. It drips down his fingers and leaves them stinging, stinging, cold. Phantom aches.

He can't stop running.

He won't stop running.

Even as he slips in his own blood, bashes his knee too hard against the cold floor, he still forces himself up limpingly. When his hand touched the ground to catch his weight, he heard a  _ snap, _ ugly and as loud in the air as it is in his flesh. A broken knee, a broken wrist… He can handle it.

After all, it's only a dream. A nightmare.

With that thought, he's running again, tears pricking his eyes as his aching knee screams out.

-

Old stone. He's here again, beneath the ministry, standing behind his father with one foot on one brick and one foot on another, looking down at the straight line of their separation between his bright green shoes. They look so childish surrounded by dark robes and masked faces, but there isn't much he can do about the shame. He's not allowed a cloak or a mask to hide himself from the cold eyes of the Devourers. He’s too afraid to wear anything else.

If he changes, they'll notice.

If they notice, his friends will die.

Travis listens to his father's Sunday sermon. Listening, watching, never and always changing… It's the only way he can protect anyone. It's the only way to stay safe.

-

The shadowed hands burst from the stone, shattering the ground in front of him. The debris nips at his legs, but the small cuts left behind are the least of his worries - Travis skitters to a stop for only the briefest of seconds as his momentum is forcibly thrown backwards. That split second is almost nonexistent, not even a hair's breadth of a moment, but it's too long.

It's too late.

Travis turns to run, but he's already being pulled across the floor by his ankles, hitting the ground with a painful thud, his face cut on the dusty stone skittering beneath him. His knee throbs. The bleeding ends of his missing fingers throb. His chest pounds with the beating of a heart that wants only escape.

He wants out. He wants out. He wants  _ out _ .

It's too late.

-

"I don't know, man."

"Oh, come on," Travis huffs pissily. He can see his words in the cold air outside Addison Apartments, lighter than the grey morning sky. "I expected at least you to agree with me, Larry."

Larry shrugs, his red hoodie momentarily swallowing up his neck as his shoulders rise. "I do. At least, in theory."

"Knowledge is power," Travis parrots. Even now, those words stand out among his memories; he doesn't remember much of that day, but he remembers Larry's stubbornness, Sal's gentle hands - and the phone call that changed everything.

"Knowledge  _ is _ power. I stand by that. But…"

" _ But? _ Tell me one good reason why not.  _ One. _ "

That makes Larry laugh, a humorless huff that fogs between them. He leans backwards against the closed door of Neil's car. "Maybe once Todd gets down here, he can tell you  _ one reason _ again. Or you can ask Sal, if Todd's lecture is getting boring."

Ugh. "Don't use my boyfriend against me, asshole."

Larry's laugh is more smiling now. He hits his shoulder against Travis' teasingly, too gentle to be a check. "I know your weak spots, Phelps. And so does your old man -  _ that's _ why I'm telling you no, even if I agree it's a good idea."

The cold of the morning invades Travis' insides. Suddenly, his windbreaker and turtleneck feel useless. He has to look behind him towards the street, towards Phelps' Ministry, just to remind himself his father isn't there. That Dogma isn't watching him from the shadows.

They lapse into a tense but understanding silence.

After all, it's not like Travis doesn't know his father is dangerous. He knows it better than his friends do, and they'd be assholes to suggest otherwise. He knows his father's anger, his wrath, his zealotry… And his father knows as little in return as Travis can keep from the man.

It's not easy. He'll admit that. Posing as his father's spy while being a double agent for his friends - while being the only thing between Nockfell and total destruction…

It's dangerous. There's no question there. They have so many eyes on them, even if Dogma isn't hiding among the trees.

That's why Travis needs to get stronger, barter for higher goods. And that's why he needs the book.

"Guys!" Neil shouts, startling both Travis and the lanky boy beside him. "Please just get in the car. I'm starting to worry you'll get frostbite or something."

"Hate to lose a finger," Larry snarks.

With a weak shared laugh, Larry and Travis join Neil inside his car to wait for the other carpoolers. The conversation starts up again, this time about more mundane matters, like yesterday's pop quiz and the unfair amount of homework they think they'll be assigned over winter break. It's nice. It's nice and it doesn't feel real.

The whole time, Travis' mind is elsewhere. Cold bites at his fingertips, but fear bites at his heart. He knows what he has to do.

-

It's not easy to recruit a partner-in-crime during the school day. In fact, as Travis quickly learns, it's fucking impossible.

When he asks Neil, the guy point-blank refuses. He doesn't even say 'sorry' with a sympathetic smile in his usual Neil-y fashion - or bother to say good-bye! He just rolls his window up with a disappointed look and drives away, leaving Travis standing with a hanging jaw on the sidewalk.

When Sal pulls him away by the arm, Travis has to pretend he hasn't just been royally snubbed. And by the guy who's usually the 'yes' man… How embarrassing.

Still, that's only two of their friends counted out so far. There's more fish in the sea.

Although, Chug is an obvious 'no'. Travis won't even bother asking. The guy's too bad at lying to be of any help - and way too much of a scaredy-cat to even  _ try _ . He'd only get brave if it were a matter of life and death - and he definitely won't agree that it is, no matter what Travis says. Probably wouldn't even take a bribe. So, three friends out.

Between second and third period, he corners Maple at her locker as she's swapping out her books. She thinks about it, at least, when he asks, bites her lip and really considers helping him, but ultimately apologizes. Something about "not wanting to get in trouble". As if Travis doesn't have that handled. As if she doesn't trust him.

"Todd's a bad influence on you," he gripes.

That just makes her laugh. The sound follows him all the way to his next class, where he's planning to ambush Larry.

As soon as he sits down at his desk, he's turning to ask Larry again. He doesn't beg,  _ Travis Phelps doesn't beg, _ but he gets pretty close. He's desperate - he tells Larry as much, but still, he says no. He says it with more force than he did this morning, his face way more severe than usual... and then he sits awkwardly in his seat while Todd turns around and berates Travis for even asking.

"No grimoire will be of greater use than our current experiments," he says matter-of-factly, although Travis thinks he's trying to convince himself more than he or Larry. "Or, likely, of any use at all. We have no idea what purpose spellbooks serve or if the spells within it are even real."

_ Pah! _ What does he know? Freakin' UFO-chasing asshole - aliens exist, but spellbooks can't? Leave it to Todd to be the know-it-all.

The air is tense between them for the rest of class, and again at lunch.

Still, Travis is on a mission, whether Todd likes it or not.

"Ash-" He opens his arms to her, grinning as she leans in for a side-hug. "You'll help me, right?"

Todd, unsurprisingly, opens his mouth to protest, but Ash wisely speaks first, before another argument can break out.

"I love you, Trav," she tells him placatingly. "But I'm not helping you steal an expensive book. The cult is one thing, but all this ghostly, magic stuff… It's just too much."

"If you'd let me  _ show you- _ "

"I'm sorry, Travis." She shrugs, brown hair sliding over her shoulder. "Anyways, I'm super busy between homework and Ben, so I wouldn't even have time to help."

"Ugh. Are your parents seriously making you babysit again?"

"Right? They don't even pay me!"

The topic doesn't roll back around to Travis' desires for thievery for the rest of lunch. Travis and Maple trade sliced apples for yogurt-covered raisins, Larry excitedly chatters about an experimental metal band he's recently come across, and everyone hears about Neil's most recent adventures at college from Todd as if they weren't in the guy's car just that morning, but it feels… off. It's too nice. Too normal.

Travis doesn't know how to cope with normal anymore. He wants to talk about babysitting, about baking, about the things they're struggling to learn in Algebra, but Dogma's eyes weigh heavy in his mind.

The cult is here. The cult is always here.

Travis jumps when something touches his hand. It's Sal - he holds Travis' hand under the table, the closest thing to an anchor he has. His angel, his best friend, his partner in petty crime. 

His boyfriend's not being very talkative. Travis notices the way those mismatched blue eyes stay glued to his meal, the way he listens and doesn't contribute. It's not like Sal to remove himself from a conversation this much. He's a quiet guy, maybe, when he wants to be, but he's never this distant unless something is wrong.

He worries for Sal, wants to hold him and kiss his now-familiar lips and ask him, "My sweet angel, what's wrong?", but he knows that too much fussing won't do anything but make Sal feel bad. So, he bites his tongue and waits for the best time to pounce.

He doesn't have to wait very long in the end. When Sal takes his customary seat behind Travis in 7th period World History, Travis turns excitedly to greet him - only to be greeted himself by Sal's reserved, but worried gaze.

"What's wrong?" he asks immediately.

Sal looks away thoughtfully, then back to Travis. His eyes are piercing. His eyes are always so piercing. "Why have you asked everyone but me?"

"That…" Travis' face grows hot with shame. He doesn't know why. "Well, I- I was waiting."

"Waiting? What for?"

Feeling caught, Travis bites his lip. "Until we were alone," he confesses. "I… haven't been totally honest with people. About magic."

"Oh?" The familiar blue eyes he's found himself so often lost in grow wide and Travis looks away in embarrassment. Sal always  _ sees  _ him. It's unbearable.

"Yeah," He bites out. "But, I know I can tell you. So, wanna go to your place after school? Just two guys having a slumber party, talking about the price of blood in an unwinnable war?"

Sal's pigtails bounce when he nods. "Sure. Dad'll be at home, though. Is that okay?"

"Men at work," Travis jokes weakly. "Who am I to be pissed about the manager in his own house-slash-workplace?"

Sal must really, honestly love him - he laughs, a sound way too bright for Mrs. Heffley's dingy old classroom. He's an angel among graffiti'd textbooks and gum-ridden desks, Travis thinks. He's too radiant to exist here, to exist at all; he's the one thing Travis will always be waiting to wake up from.

His memories of Sal must be worth more power than any witch has ever held.

_ Sal's certainly cast his spell on me, _ Travis thinks wryly. He's got it so bad.

"No ordering pizza," he says aloud. It's easier than confronting the depth of what Sal is to him. Of how big the emptiness would be if something were ever to happen to him. "We got your food last time and I  _ refuse _ to eat more pizza.

Sal agrees, but not without a little teasing. All in all, it goes well. When Travis turns back to the board, back to his boyfriend, he doesn't feel quite so tense. Just… distracted.

He tries not to think of the book for the rest of the day, but it's difficult. The reddish brown leather and inky black spine, the hand-pressed lettering on the front of secret symbols and old runes, the feathering of the loose pages fanning from the sides, the creamy white of the pages bright like bleached bones…

He tries not to think of the book and he fails. Of course he would. He was always meant to; even the book seems to be telling him so, calling out to him in a way he can barely understand. He thinks of the book because he has to, because there's no other options, no other eventuality that could have met him, and he feels its promises tingle beneath his skin. He thinks of the book, of Sal, and of Dogma's face, stark and cruel as it will always be etched into his eyes, into his soul.

He'll do anything to protect his friends, even Todd, whether they like it or not. And that book is going to help him do it. He knows it, because it tells him so.

-

It's nice at Sal's house. Gizmo isn't a very tactile cat, being as easily overstimulated as he is, but he follows the sound of the door opening to meow his welcome to Sal and his guest. Then, he follows them to the kitchen even without being offered treats.

They give him little bacon-y cat treats, of course, which he gobbles down disgustingly, to their great delight, and watch as he toddles away in renewed boredom upon finishing. 

"Cute," Travis coos.

Sal agrees fervently.

With Gizmo off napping somewhere, they focus on stocking up on snacks for their impromptu movie night. Chips, dips, and some too-big bottles of sports drink weigh them down as they turn and head to Sal's room.

Just when they get to the door, Mr. Fisher peeks his head out of his own bedroom doorway, his eyes tired and his mouth smiling. "Oh! Hi, Travis. I thought I heard one of Sal's friends."

"Hey, Henry." And how weird is it, to call a grown man by his name? Travis is so used to that being disrespectful, being worthy of punishment… At least he knows Henry won't get angry, even when his heart stutters in habitual fear.

Beside him, Sal adjusts the family-size bag of chips in his arms noisily, looking apologetic. "Sorry for being loud, Dad. Is it cool if Travis stays the night? We'll be way quieter."

"Of course, bud," the man says half-jovially. There's an awkward aura about him; he doesn't meet Travis' eyes and seems to be avoiding looking at his son entirely. "Only, uh, really do keep it down in there, okay? I have to meet my deadline by tonight."

And, even stranger, Sal is awkward too. He shifts his weight uncomfortably, his blue converse squeaking as they stretch in ways only such frequent wear allows.

"Yeah, Dad," he says. Travis can hear his blush, which is perplexing to say the least. Is he missing something? "Sorry, again. Really."

"No, no sorries! You're teens. It happens. Hormones and… Yeah… Well, uh, anyways-" And then Mr. Fisher disappears back behind his door so fast, Travis wonders if he’s taking lessons from Terrence Addison. "Good night, boys!"

"But not  _ too _ good," Sal mutters. He sounds tired - and embarrassed, even more now that Henry is out of the room. "Well, at least he's not being weird about the 'boy' part of 'boy'friend, right? Could be worse."

Travis blinks in wide-eyed alarm. "You told your dad?!" He only just remembers to whisper instead of shout.

Sal shoots him a strange look. "Well, no, but I didn't have to. He saw what he saw, right?"

All Travis does is stare.

"Do you…" Sal adjusts the chips again and turns his direction, facing him straight on. "Do you not remember?"

Immediately, Travis' face grows hot and flushed. Ah, magic's only downside. He can forget anything he pleases, barter trauma and nostalgia alike for great ability, so long as he's willing to look the fool when he doesn't remember what he's forgotten (or that he's forgotten anything at all).

Sal fixes him with a stern look. "Dude!"

"Okay-" It comes out unsure, defensive. "Listen…"

"Travis, don't even. I can't believe you got rid of Dad walking in on us when you  _ knew _ I can't."

The dark blush risen to his cheeks grows even hotter. His ears are starting to sting from the burn of it. "Oh, Jesus."

He searches his memory for all the things they've done in Sal's bedroom - and what of those things he'd be willing to shave moments off of in magical exchange.

"We were just kissing, right?" He searches Sal's eyes desperately. "Angel?"

Slowly, Sal shakes his head.

"Oh, God."

"Yeah…" A heavy sigh shakes its way through the boy in front of him, but he still turns and finally walks into his bedroom. "What else don't you remember? "

Travis doesn't laugh. An uneasy settles in his gut. "I don't think it works that way, angel."

A silence washes over Sal; the type that freezes his movement and turns him momentarily still.

"Oh," he says. "Right. I guess you wouldn't know."

His bedroom door creaks when it closes. They don't talk much during the movie.

-

When night falls and even Sal is yawning, Travis makes a show of suggesting he sleep on the floor while Sal takes the bed - it works, breaking the tense air between them with Sal's rare, beautiful laugh.

"No way," Sal teases. "You're way too valuable as a pillow to leave out in the cold."

Travis moseys towards the bed, arms clasped behind himself, a too-giddy smile stealing his face. "I mean, if you  _ insist _ . I guess it would be cruel to deprive you of your favorite pillow..."

As always, Sal is a warm and comforting weight in his arms. His hair is slightly oily, still smelling like winter morning and cafeteria mashed potatoes, and his hands are cold as ever against Travis' sides.

"I love you," Travis murmurs into his hair, basking in its silkiness, so unlike his own. They're so different in so many ways. "I love you, I love you…"

Sal makes a sound that Travis can't even tease him about, it's so cute. A low, dopey giggle, slow and leisurely like they're floating in a bubble bath. It makes Travis' heart melt and grow all at once, rising into his throat and making him feel choked and somehow twice as giddy as before.

"I do," he says through his mile-wide smile. "I really mean it."

"I know." Sal kisses him in the dark, his scarred lips a rare honor against Travis' own. Travis could never barter this, not for all the power in the world. Not if the fate of all of Nockfell relied on his sacrifice. Not for the fate of the world. "That's why I was so surprised when you didn't ask me to help steal the book."

Travis pulls back suddenly like he's been electrocuted. "I-"

"Yeah, I still remember why you came here. Unlike some people…" He hears Sal shift against the bed. "I don't know if this book is a good investment, Trav. I mean, you seem… well,  _ obsessed _ ."

Travis tries to ignore the hurt in his chest. "Are you obsessed with guitar or charcoals or painting?"

Hot breath washes over Travis' neck as Sal huffs. "No," he says. "But that's different. I can make art about myself, but those pieces of me don't disappear when I've finished."

"They also don't stop Kenneth Phelps from hurting more innocent people by sitting around on a page." Now it's Travis' turn to sigh. "I know the cost, Sal. I've known it since my father took me into the ministry's basement. When  _ I  _ was the cost; my eye…"

Sal's hand finds his face - the side with the now-missing eye. The now-replaced eye. His hands, which before were cold and dry, are clammy with nerves against Travis' cheek.

"I know the cost," Travis says again. "I love you. I know you worry, but…"

"...But?"

He licks his lips. Swallows. "Can I be totally honest with you?"

"Always, dove." Sal's lips find his in the dark again. "You can tell me anything."

"I love magic. I love how it feels, how it tastes… It's  _ art, _ Sal, like music, like prose, but  _ so much more useful. _ It's something I can do for our friends. For Nockfell. For  _ you. _ "

Sal's forehead presses against his throat. He holds Travis tightly, as if he's afraid he'll melt through the floor and disappear like a ghost. "Why do  _ you  _ have to do that? Todd's tricking out my guitar with magic - magic that won't have a price. Let me do the heavy lifting. Please."

Anger grows in his chest, but that  _ please _ stops him short. Guilt sits next to rage, indignation with that gut-deep fear he always tries to ignore, that he's been ignoring since that day in Mrs. Packerton's old apartment, when he picked up Sal's landline and called Dogma, the Devourer of God, and asked to be made his disciple.

It makes his breath shake. His throat feels too tight.

"I need to do this." How can he make Sal understand? Sal has always seen him when no one else did. What used to make him feel sick to think of is now a gentle comfort - an evidence of love. "Sal…"

That same understanding, that same  _ knowing _ is in Sal's voice, but he still pushes. "Why? Why you, Travis? Why my Travis?"

Travis kisses him. "Do you believe in destiny? Like, fate, or whatever?"

A humorless laugh puffs between them. "I don't know what I believe in anymore, Travis."

"Believe in me." Another kiss. Another. "Please?"

"You know I do."

"Do you?" It's not what he meant to say -  _ hasn't Sal proven this already? time and time again?  _ \- but he refuses to grow silent. "I know it seems fucking crazy, but… I can feel it inside me, Sal. Like my mom's perfume or the way her hair tickled my face when she held me. It's here and maybe it's meaningless, but it's a part of me. I have to do this. I was made to be a witch."

A silence, light and yet so heavy, hangs between them. They're so close they might as well be one creature, one body. Two hearts, beating out of tandem.

"I love you," Sal says. "And- I choose to trust you. I'll help you. I'll- I'll go with you."

"Thank you. I love you so much, angel. Thank you."

Another humorless laugh rings out, a sound far more bitter than what usually leaves the sweet boy in his arms. Then, gentling, Sal whispers against Travis' chest, "Where did you say the book was?"

-

The too-sharp, too-long fingers are as dark as the night sky and twice as cold, so freezing where they dig into his ankles that he almost doesn't notice when they let him go. He's left unmoving on the ground, his belly scratched and bleeding from being dragged against the stone floor.

He's dry-heaving, crying against the floor so hard he doesn't recognize the dust being sucked into his throat until it chokes him. He coughs violently, and the contractions make blood leave him faster, as if it's screaming. Travis is screaming.

"Help me!" It's so dark. Would he know if someone's in the shadows? Would he know what's happening if someone reached out and killed him? "Please, help! Please, God, help me, please-!"

It has to be a dream. He can't will the darkness away.

The pain is so loud. The smell of hot blood stings his nose. The dust and dirt that litters the cool stone beneath him gets into his cuts. His whole body is trembling. Almost convulsing, as if being electrocuted. He's in so much pain.

He's not waking up. No matter how much he begs, he doesn't wake up.

-

The shop isn't busy.

It never is. That's what made it so enticing to Travis to begin with; he could go in, grab a book, and hide behind a shelf to read it, without any worries about who or what would bother him. There was only the shop owner, a heavy-set older man with wicked tattoos, that occupied the shop at any given time. He stood behind the register, reading his own book in the plush chair he'd put there, and gave little care to Travis' existence.

It’s the perfect arrangement. Travis is about to jeopardize all of it.

_ Magic is about sacrifice _ , he reminds himself. Magic is about give and take.

This is the give. This is what it takes.

"Okay," he breathes. "Tell me the plan again."

Sal obediently rattles off the sequence of events Travis has planned, plus a few Plan B's and Plan C's they whipped together to cover all the bases. As he listens to the plan being recited, he waits for it to calm him - instead, it does the opposite. His palms begin to sweat, even in the freezing weather. For once, this does feel real, and not necessarily in a good way.

He hopes he doesn't look too obvious. Lying to his father has been good practice, but he's been lying to Kenneth Phelps his whole life. It feels a little different than stealing.

"Okay," Travis says again. He takes a steadying breath: in for four, out for eight. "Ready. Places."

Before he can turn to take his post and begin their plan, Sal kisses him. In broad daylight. It's less than a moment, and only a brush on his ceramic lips to Travis' barely-felt cold ones, but it's still a kiss.

Travis' brain stops working.

"I'm ready now." Somehow, Sal is totally unaffected, smiling up from behind his mask. "See you in a few hours."

And then he walks away into a nearby shoe store, where he'll remain until the time is right.

Travis stares after him like a gaping fish, but finally shakes his head of fluff and walks to his own post: the bookstore, simply named Low-Priced Pulp.

It's so familiar when he walks in, he straightens and smiles a little, as if the weight of his task has slid right off his shoulders and through the simple wooden floors. Narrow aisles snake between twisting bookcases at his right and ahead, stacked high and tight with books of all colors. The cash register is to his left, right there, the man behind the desk not even bothering to look up from his book at the arrival of a regular. He just licks his tattooed thumb and turns another page.

Travis walks down the science fiction aisle. He'll be here for a while. The time must be spent acting naturally anyhow, behaving as he always does in his favorite bookstore - he might as well get through a Star Trek book or two while he's here.

-

Travis is getting antsy. One  _ Vulcan Academy Murders _ later and he's crawling in his skin, feeling the half-empty backpack on his shoulders more than ever.

Any minute now, Sal should be here. Any minute now-

_ Ring-ding-ding… _

The chime above the door sounds as it opens. Familiar shoes squeak against the floor, up to the desk.

"Hi." Sal's voice carries through the shop, calming Travis' quick-beating heart just enough to keep it from stopping completely. "Do you have any books on aliens? I got abducted last week, so, y'know."

The man behind the counter is quiet for a moment, then sets down his book. Travis waits with his breath held between his teeth, lungs burning…

"Abducted, huh?" The man could not sound less interested. Still, he took the bait. He took the bait and they're one step closer.

"Oh, it was  _ crazy. _ So, I'm at crab place down the block, right-?"

As Sal goes about his story, gesticulating wildly to knock things over, being more annoying that he's probably ever been in his life, Travis sneaks carefully to the expensive book wall.

It's not an extensive number of books, which is worrying, but they're lined up side-by-side with the spines pointed forwards, so it'll be harder to realize one is missing without actively searching for it. There's no glass case, for which Travis is deeply grateful, but there is a sort of hand-made velvet rope made of woven yarn. In the middle hangs a bell.

Travis is long. Tall. He can reach over it without making it ring. Probably. He hopes.

He takes his backpack off carefully, quietly, and leaves it open against the shelf behind him. Then, sneaking back to the trip-wire bell, Travis reaches over, tip-toed and wobbly, until his fingertips brush the spine of the grimoire.

Just that small touch, barely a whisper against his finger, feels electric. He can feel the book's power. It's the real deal. If he took off his eyepatch and looked at it with his Devourer's Eye, he'd see the strings of life and death binding the pages shut. He thinks he can see them even without the Eye.

It takes a bit more stretching, but he gets it. He gets it off the shelf, silently, bell unrung.

He has the grimoire.

It's humming in his hands. The energy seems to thud, thud, thud against his palms. Like it's alive.

He stuffs it into his bag and slings it over his back. Sal's knocked over an entire bookmark stand and is loudly reading the book puns on them, laughing like there's nothing funnier in the world than a drawing of a cartoon worm wearing glasses. Travis uses the distraction to sneak back over to where he spent his last couple of hours.

It's a little hard not to laugh. Sal's really selling it. It's so easy to forget that Sal's a badass sometimes. The guy's a perfect troll when he wants to be.

_ You'd think I'd remember that, _ Travis finds himself thinking.  _ Especially after all the times he totally owned me. _

Sal wasn't an easy kid to bully. Travis is glad he's not the person he was then. Those days feel so long ago now… Hazy, like there's a fog between today and all those months before.

Shit, Sal's running out of material. Travis quickly stalks out the door, but not before sharing an exasperated look with the man behind the desk. He tries to make himself look annoyed as opposed to looking like the devil is chasing him through brimstone and fire. Whether he succeeds or not is anyone's guess but his own.

He keeps walking. He walks down the sidewalk towards the street light with the GARGE SALE sign taped to it, down the pedestrian crosswalk, turns right towards the place he buys his hair products. He walks past it, past all the shops beside it, and disappears into the alleyway.

His heart is beating like a runaway drum. He can feel the book at his back. Not the weight of it, or the way it jostles against the textbooks he kept inside to avoid suspicion. No, he can  _ feel it _ . As if it's reaching out to touch him.

Travis swallows hard around a too-wet tongue and waits for Sal.

-

They don't meet in the alleyway. 

That would be way too obvious - at least, that's what Sal told Travis when he recommended the restaurant. Travis isn't actually sure how real criminals get away with things, but he figured meeting at a more neutral location further from Low-Priced Pulp (and the well-muscled tattooed man who owns it) would be a better idea. Less likely to be caught. Maybe.

Shit. He wishes the bookstore had more visitors; the more regular customers in line to point fingers at, the less likely he and Sal get punished. The less likely to be found out by his father- by  _ Dogma. _

Panic rises in his chest. If only he didn't stand out like a sore thumb. If only he weren't so freakish, so obscene, so  _ wrong _ , then they'd be safe. They'd be safe, together, no magic, no cult, no abusive fathers. But they aren't and it's all his fault-

"Travis?"

Sal's bright blue eyes are on him. He blinks until they come into focus: sea blue on the edges, teal on the inside, one like an endless galaxy and the other like stained glass.

"You're beautiful," Travis says. "Thank you so much for helping me. You have no idea how much this book means to me."

"You're right." Travis blinks again, but Sal just shrugs and continues, "I  _ don't _ know. You haven't really told me."

Guilt chews at him, biting away the walls he surrounds himself with quickly. He looks down at Sal's black-painted nails in shame. "Yeah, I know."

"Will you? I mean, I helped you get it, because I care about you and it's obviously important to you, but… Why?"

"...Why?"

"Why this book?" The dark-nailed hand he's staring at reaches out to grab his own. He almost panics - they'll be seen, two boys-

"I…" He forces a deep breath into his lungs as he pulls his hand away. "I don't remember. I don't even remember what kind of spells the book has. Sometimes I trade information like that, because I know I'll have it again later."

"Travis!"

But Travis doesn't look up, not at Sal's horror or his disappointment. It would hurt too badly to see it. Instead, he continues, "I  _ know _ it will help me become strong enough. I kept that. I kept that, so it has to be important."

"You…" Sal swallows. Even with the sounds of clanking dishware and chattering patrons, Travis can hear his voice - can feel the worry that makes it so breathless. "You can't remember why you want it?"

"I- You don't understand-"

"Neither do you."

A small moment of silence separates them. The diners around them laugh, talk, tease. It's like the two of them are invisible.

Travis wants to be invisible.

"I don't know why," he murmurs. "But… Look." And then he pulls up his eyepatch.

Sal's own eyes grow wide in horror, in fear, in disgust. In compassion, too, because he's Sal, because Travis is himself. He may not remember it, but Travis knows what he sees. Travis knows there's something wrong with him, something his father put there.

"Do you understand? Dogma is doing something to me. The Devourers…"

They grow hushed. Something about the room grows quieter, like all ears are suddenly on them.

"Maybe we should get the check," Sal says.

"Good idea."

They can't leave fast enough. Only when the doors close behind them does the feeling of being watched disappear.

-

They rush all the way to Addison, chased by the lingering tingle of eyes down the long road. There's no one behind them, but Travis finds his jog turning into a sprint, as if he's being chased. He doesn't know why.

He doesn't want to.

He doesn't stop running until his hands smack the too-green door of the apartments, surely catching splinters from the old wood. When he pulls his hands away, they hurt, the knuckles erupting into searing pain. They feel like they're on fire, but he's been feeling that way a lot lately.

It takes Sal a while to catch up, as his legs are shorter and his face is easy to chafe beneath the prosthetic, but he makes it to the door unharmed. He's panting, sweat stains growing beneath his arms. His eyes are worried. His fingers are twitching, as if he's fighting the urge to dig them into his pigtails, to pull the strands away and make everything better.

"Did you-" He looks behind them, wrapping his hands around his forearms in a desperate hug. "Did you see something, 'star?"

"No." And that's the worst part. He feels so afraid, but he can't see what he's afraid of. He can't reach for it.

Sal nods. "Okay. You're okay. Let's get inside."

Travis follows. After everything, even with a head full of holes, following Sal is the one thing he knows he can believe in.

Even if Sal doesn't believe in him.

-

The cold stone beneath him is cool grey, looking warmer in the sudden orange candlelight. He turns his head up in fear, almost blind for the tears in his eyes, the panic blurring the world around him, only to find himself face-to-face with more grey stone - the sharp, sculpted stone of Dogma’s true face.

He cries out in gratitude to a God he’s no longer meant to serve.

His relief is premature. His father - his new God - raises his polished boot to slam it back to the stubs of Travis’ bleeding knuckles. He can only scream.

“Why? Father, why, why are you doing this-”

Dogma doesn’t speak - at least, not to him. He turns to his followers, to Travis’ fellow Devourers, and says, “Test it.” 

A robed figure rushes towards him; he still somehow has the wherewithal to flinch. The cultist doesn’t hurt him - at least, not the way Dogma has. They raise their arms, letting the wide robe sleeves dangle low and shadowed, and slowly, violet wisps begin to curl around their fingers, glowing like some luminescent sea creature. Like something poisonous.

And then Travis feels it - his body is knitting itself back together. His fingers are growing back, bones and nails and all. Even the little blond hairs between his knuckles sprout from the newly-born flesh.

He screams all the while. He has never known pain like this.

-

The short elevator ride up to Todd’s room is tense, made more so by the hanging weight of he and Sal's unspoken argument. They don’t bother actually having the fight: why put words to what both of them already know when it will only make things worse? Travis knows he won’t be able to hold back the barking growl that used to be so familiar - that is now so rare - if he has to tell Sal to fuck off and take Todd with him.

And it’s not like Sal would listen anyways. Travis dug his own grave here, made his own bed out of cold dirt and shining brown coffin, so there’s really no use complaining. Why fight, why argue, when he chose this - when he still chooses this?

He’s proud of what they’ve accomplished. He’s proud of what he’s about to accomplish.

So, fine. He’ll take the book to Todd and show his friend that he was right. He’ll show them all he was right. And then they’ll be safe.

Travis will finally be safe.

-

Finally, the pain ebbs. When Travis flexes his fingers, balls them into fists for that comforting lie of strength, they ache, but they don’t hurt the way they did. Nothing will ever hurt the way that did.

“Stand.”

Travis does. He’s never disobeyed a direct order from his father before and he’s not about to start, not with that horrible mask staring him down or with all the shadowy figures surrounding him. Not after pain like that.

“Good,” Dogma murmurs. Despite all logic, Travis’ heart swells at something so close to praise. “This is good. We’ll need the spell to keep him alive during the summon.”

“The s-summon, Father?” Dogma’s cold eyes find him through the shadows of his mask and he flinches. “Sir! My Lord Dogma…”

A long moment passes before Dogma sighs. “I suppose you might as well be made aware. After all, you’ll be our guest’s most gracious host.”

The robed figures around him laugh. His father doesn’t - Travis isn’t sure Kenneth Phelps has ever laughed before - but his clear eyes are smirking behind the face of Dogma. Travis swallows around his fear and waits for his father to continue.

“The Eye isn’t finished-” Dogma’s long finger pokes the patch a little too hard. It hurts. Travis doesn’t dare move away from his father’s touch. “-but it will be made finished. With the Child and his ilk growing stronger, the Devourers of God will need every weapon. You are such a weapon, my son. At least, you will be, once we find the book.”

“‘The book’, Father? What book?”

“Don’t question me, boy.” Luckily, he doesn’t sound angry - just annoyed. Almost bored. “You won’t need to fetch it. It’s… a grimoire, of sorts.”

Travis looks up at him in confusion. “A… book of shadows?”

And then it happens - Dogma  _ does _ laugh, a sound like ice and steel. A sound like a bird of prey. “Not just  _ a _ book of shadows, my son,” he says smilingly. “ _ The  _ Book of Shadows. It contains the names of every creature The Darkness has ever birthed and guides on how to summon them. You will be our willing host. This was always our plan for you, Travis.”

He knows he should try to look grateful, try to look honored, but he can’t. He can’t move his face. He can’t move to run. Bile rises in his throat, but he can’t even move to vomit.

“Don’t worry,” Dogma continues. He speaks so casually, so lightly, like he’s discussing a new hobby with an old friend. “It won’t be anything like the creature which chased you. Those are almost impossible to restrain, even with careful spellwork like we’ll use on you. And, of course, we have a spell to keep you alive while the creature melds with your flesh. It won’t be like young Terrence Addison. The creature will try to take you, my son, and make your body its own, but it can’t. We’ve been sculpting you.”

No, Travis realizes, he isn’t speaking like a friend at all. He’s speaking like a doctor explaining a surgery to a patient.

Travis wants to think there’s nothing in his kindness other than placation, but the truth is… Travis has never heard such a genuine happiness from his father. There’s never been such clear joy in that familiar low voice before.

“‘Sculpting me’, sir?”

“Your eye!” The happiness is gone all at once. The firelight of the candles seems to waver with his rage, the orange light reflecting in the angry shine of his eyes. He’s much more recognizable now. “I’ve put a lot of time and money into The Eye, you worthless brat. You  _ will _ use it.”

“Yes, Father. Of course, anything to serve you, to serve the Darkness… Only, I still don’t know what the Eye  _ does _ .”

“You’ll learn, in due time.” And then Dogma is waving everyone out of the Temple, as if Travis never said a word. As if his son wasn’t just violently tortured in the bowels of Phelps Ministry. “Back to the church, in the pews! I want everyone seated and ready to hear our plan. The Child may be growing stronger, but He will not succeed. The world will fall to Shadow and be made clean at last, purified for our heaven.”

Travis laughs nervously. “Save it for the sermon, Father.”

The other cultists grow tense, a silence stifling the room, but all Dogma does is laugh.

“You’re right,” he says, clasping a mean hand to the back of Travis’ neck. “For once. The others will want to hear this too.”

Travis wants to feel relieved that he wasn’t beaten or punished any more greatly than he’s already been, but the truth is, it doesn’t matter what Dogma does to him now. A plan is taking form, hazy but growing clearer, and Travis knows he won’t remember this later - not the beast, the blood, or the cold smile in Dogma's eyes. 

The power of this pain, of being torn apart and remade… The exchange will be greater than any he’s made before.

For what he’s going to do, he’ll be needing all the power he can muster.

-

Todd is horrified by the sight of the book in Travis' shaking hands, but only momentarily. The fear melts away quickly into his more usual monotonous expression, thankfully devoid of anger. He doesn't even open his mouth to lecture.

Makes sense, but Travis is still surprised. Maybe he shouldn't be. Todd’s never been one for holding a grudge, after all, and he’d much rather use the tools they have than spend time fussing about whether they should have them. He's always been this way.

"You always were a rational guy," Travis says warmly, before Todd interrupts him.

"Don't start."

Just his tone makes Travis nearly choke on his too-mean laugh. For all emotionless expression, those words are  _ scathing _ . At least he's not angry - just annoyed.

"I mean it," Todd drawls. He leans back in his desk chair and sighs. "It's good to have more information about magic, even if I disagree with your methods… You could have both gotten into trouble. If the D.O.G. found out about this-"

Panic rises again in Travis' chest, but he doesn't know why, so he waves it away. Better to focus on the laughter that was bubbling up before, on the affection he feels for his friend. "Relax," he says. "We were careful. If we keep the book here at Addison, Father will have no idea it even exists." Something about that feels- wrong. Incorrect. He ignores that too.

Those dark spots between yesterday and the days before seem to grow larger the closer he looks at them, so he doesn't look. If he gave it away, then it's probably not something he wants to remember.

"I suppose," Todd says. "But I'll be keeping a close eye on cult activity regardless. You should too."

That makes Travis scoff. "Of course I will. It's like, my only job."

"Would you remember what you saw?" Sal's voice is light, but it's also-  _ stern _ . Noticeably unhappy in that way he fights to never show.

Todd's eyes grow wide behind his glasses. "Are you two in the center of an argument? I hope you don't expect me to mediate…"

"Why not?" Travis kicks at the wheel of Todd's rolling chair, smirking back at Todd's bland glare."You've had a boyfriend way longer than us. You know how fights work."

"Neil and I don't fight."

"Bullshit," Travis shouts at the same time Sal says gently, "Everyone fights."

Todd sighs. "Our arguments aren't so serious. They're… little fights. Things like: should he have applied to more colleges, why wasn't I honest about what I wanted to eat, which Star Trek movie is the best one-?"

"Four," Travis interrupts.

"Actually, it's the second movie, although you are entitled to your opinion."

"Thanks. Your opinion is shit."

"Travis-"

" _ Sal. _ " Travis sighs and stuffs his hands in his pockets. The book is pulsing like a heartbeat in his bag and he wants to move on already, wants to read the pages, wants to throw it leather and all into a fire. "You can tell me how pissed you are later, I promise. For now, can we focus on the book?"

Sal is quiet for a moment, but then he nods. "Yeah, I guess you're right. And I'm not pissed, just…"

"Disappointed?" Travis deadpans.

_ " Concerned ." _

Shame churns in his gut like dragonflies buzzing in circles. "Oh."

"Er-" Todd clears his throat. "Yes, well, be that as it may, no amount of concern  _ or _ disappointment can change what's happened. The book is here. Shall we take it back out and see what spells are inside?"

Travis doesn't want to. He takes his backpack off and carefully removes the leather-bound book. 

The power emanating from it is so strong that it almost hums. The leather cover is almost segmented in some places, not unlike the color and texture of Nockfell High's old bologna. It makes Travis sick to look at, to hold. He never wants to put it down.

"Interesting," murmurs Todd. He's tapping at his stubbly chin with a short nail. "It seems to contain power even without a spellcaster to be its conduit… Very interesting."

"Think it'll be safe to use?" It's the closest thing to uncertainty he's allowed himself to show. He can feel Sal's eyes on him, but he doesn't turn away from Todd.

Todd looks at the book, which throbs against Travis' fingers as if trying to escape. "I'm uncertain. I can run tests on it to see - preferably on the fifth floor until we know for sure. I don't want to endanger myself or my parents by doing it here."

"Of course." Travis looks down at the book in his hand, at the curling lines of the golden symbols dug into the cover. "Or Bob, right?"

"Heh. Yeah, for Bob's safety."

Travis licks his lips. "Do you think you can crack this, Morrison?" He points at the symbols, at their sharp edges and round sides. They press against his fingers as if they're pointing back.

"Most likely."

Good. He figured as much - he wouldn't have traded the memories of what the book was if he didn't know he could get the information back - but it's still nice to hear. Comforting. After all that, his chest feels tight and his eyes burn with tears he doesn't know how to shed. Some good news is more than appreciated.

After a quick spell to neutralize the book (goodbye, middle school dance memories!), Sal and Travis leave the grimoire for Todd to pour over. 

In the meantime, they need to have a talk. Hopefully, when all is said and done, Travis will remember this one.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading! 💖 lmk what you think~


End file.
